Best Countryman Poems
The Alchemist sat on his chair
Fingering the gold dust
Black curls were his hair
And golden chain on his bust
Churchman, countryman, cityman
Alll around him sat
The lady holding dainty fan
Was on the conermost mat
Greed and lust they had in them
Begging services of this immortal
From corners of the world they had come
Seeking the way thru the portal
The Alchemist's aura of festivity
His talk of astronomy
False piety,humility and simplicity
Made the mortal look pretty mighty
Strange curses with mineral physics
Turning base metals into riches
He seemed an awesome psychic
Tightening his clutches
Poor mortals blinded by want
In him saw divine perfection
With powerful exilir he would taunt
To keep their souls from breeding affections.
In these Days, We prayed series...
The 7enth innatemeditation
REASON
Brethren,
Do we believe that the same God,
Who has endowed us
With sense, intellect and Reason
Has intended us to forgo their use?
Thus,
A wise man who tells another he's wiser
Is indeed wise.
A man who wishes another good fortune
Is blessed with many fortunes,
Go ask a fortune teller.
A good woman once told my forebears
That a belle with a gladden heart
Was called maryglad in the OLD religion.
A preacher man in his thoughts
Is holy and righteous.
So he is therefore clean and spotless
Like the Lamb of God.
Well the few who knows this truth live peacefully
And Let his congregations argue with reason.
Is he not the son of God they know?
An angel (Reason) told me that the judgement
We face is writ
If only we chose to believe it.
He continued '
God loves man too much
To condemn him to eternal damnation'.
I then asked
"Why does the preacher man
keep this part a secret?"
He replied 'cause men have lost their ways,
And their little hearts are full of hatred'
A countryman who condoles mad rulership,
For greed and personal gains is himself mad.
Know that no man is born content
Religion and the constitution gives him
All he can ever ask for.
After all what else could a man ask for.
At the break of dawn
The night worker is again alive.
Last night, he died to self and lived
Sub consciously for his employer.
Don't argue with reason
Go ask a night guard.
Godwin henry osaigbovo pa shakespeare
No matter If history be repeated to war or battle,
Will go back fight and won the medals for chest,
Neither be retreated or nor give up from battle zone,
Until I led the combat to conquest,
For even at the last breath and drop of blood,
Adhere to delimitation line till the peace and rest,
And if the essence of mother soil vanished,
Put forth my brow sweat to saturate this placidity harvest,
Make them grow, and buoy up with ocean flow,
So, this land become the mighty, at his best,
Encompass whole fragrance of brotherhood and sodality,
Endeavor for honor, tranquility, and resurrect,
After all now I can take deep puff and pass away,
Attribute this patriotic poem to countryman sanest,.
And I Shahid pray, supplicate and invocate, that you,
May be the place of harmonious, pleasant zest.
M. Shahid H. Chouhdry ©
When the poets fall silent Man will not only lose his voice but also the notion of Life. ~Quote by poet.
Steeped in the pain of his slain countryman,
surrounded by the turmoil of real fears
which lay exposed on the stone-cold tarmac,
a poet dipped his ink in the spilled tears.
He had a name … He had a name …
A mother’s son had stood up to be counted
during a time when voices were made mute,
indoctrinated to a point of stupor.
A poet observes and remains resolute.
He had a name? He had a name.
No statue would be erected in his name
as he was not the first man to be slain.
At the next roll call of the civil unrest,
the poet’s words ease some of the naked pain.
He has a name! He has a name!
13/7/2001
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Challenge accepted at Jenna Logan’s blog, An Exercise in Poetic Camaraderie, dated 13 July 2021: cathartic, courage, calming.
I used a combination of the poetic devices epistrophe and epizeuxis in this elegy.
Blank is this sheet of paper before me
my life in a tailspin, please someone catch it like a firefly
and hold it in place, keep it balanced so I can grab on to the railing
steady myself, stop it from spinning upside down
or better yet can you remove these tubes from my mother
make her stand up and walk again over to me
wrap her arms around me
embrace me like she used to like when I was a child
I can't survive this way, I don't know how
so in protest to these feelings of guilt and distress
I ingest a pill meant to cure a pain in my back
maybe this time it will heal the hole in my heart
as these idiots in lab coats can't do more to save her
It's unfair, this has been her home for so long when she was mine
holding onto her too strong
She was a complicated mess, a complicated woman
but I love her, she's my mother
and it tears me up cause I feel like I can see her soul leave her body
and it tears me up that all is numb
I hear nothing as she flat lines, they're removing everything
trying to revive her
though there it's over, her celebrated life
there it's over, I can never go back home again
I've been evicted
and the more it swirls, it sinks and sinks, a sunken pirate ship
cause it's stolen my composure, a big hole in my chest
like she took a piece of me with her in her ascent
Mom...please don't leave me, Ma..please, wait a second, wait a second
I still have this awful, haunting parting memory of you
engraved in my head
I can't make it better, I can't make it better...
can you make it better, change it to something nicer
I ask her, her ghost and with a silent kiss
Poof! goes my weakness and in comes a childlike innocence in a cloud
as she took me to a bridge, a pier of sorts and she swooped me in her arms full of joy
sweet pleasantries of beauty as she told me to go to Bucharest to catch my breath, rest my head, find serenity and peace
I won't question it, my life has been without direction
so hopefully this will be my resurrection
but unbeknownst to me, this will be the start of the necessary death
of me
Charlie Countryman
Life happens and never asks for our permission.
There are situations that are relentless in their mission
to test and try us, often to the breaking point. They
test our will, our resolve, our faith, and our love.
When you pledge allegiance to the USA flag, and your
fellow countryman legally burns it right before
your tearing eyes, do you LOVE HER STILL?
When your fellow American changes the meanings of life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, making laws
that point in every which way but right;
Do you LOVE HER STILL?
When you see vast numbers of your fellow citizens,
your amazing America, longing to remake and reinvent
itself, seriously trying to fix what is, although
not perfect, still works far better than most;
when you see your blessed country crumbling from
the inside, will you still defend her, fight for her,
forgive her wrongs, and pray fervently for her?
Will you LOVE HER STILL?
With gushing tears rushing down your saddened face
as you are forced to swallow America's bitter pills,
again, I ask, will you LOVE HER STILL?
070323ps
The woman I loved most
did not love me right
with a gypsy blind knife
Shot a shot in my chest.
Newton took advantage of that
had a dream of an apple
made gravity law perfect ...
Since i was a boy i wanted
be the most complete artist
or be magic and flying horse
to fly in the sky without routes
Gagarin once flew to the moon
stacked in large red balloon
thought the moon was fruit ...
Schools do not teach well
neither to read nor to write
For me, I do it by myself
and I do well and all right
I learned physics in one day.
Russian English and Theology
even words of love i say
Good friendship is good
It's good for the lungs.
good whiskey is single malt
"cachaça" and lemon juice
when Jesus had thirst
he sat down in a seat
drank Jordan river twice
Countryman is a strong
without tasting caviar
umbú juice he drinks
eats cavia aperea (preá)
Mike Tyson when was weak
got fat eating hamburger
from all the snake bars
ps umbú is a fruit from backwoods of Brazil.
Inspired by nature, divine art
Light feathered, no care who listens
Pleasant sight, in chorus they whistle
Early by my window they visit
With voice so tender, inspires me
No words but tune so polished
With inspiration I keep off guitar
Calm on stage I speak my heart
Simple rhythm for words to flow
With voice so tender, say it more
I could rock, pop and boogie
But need to send the message across
Lest you query the loud piano
Word by word I speak for my people
With voice so real, they too said it
Its beautiful, like evening ocean water
Calm that the heavens too borrow share
Words sweetly rhymed no sweat to cut
Smile after smile, the crowd gets the message
With voice so clear, it all gets said
Its all in poetry where wonders amuse more
Eagles leave the skies, fishes float on sea
Park goes quiet, no beeps no horns
Like national anthem to a countryman
With voice so sweet, they give ear to
Stare at nature, it writes back the lines
No head scratching, the flow overwhelms
Don’t force it, its natural gift given freely
On stage crowd awaiting the next line
With voice so natural, I give the poem
French, the People
I went to a wedding in Paris that was some time ago
when the lily white French in their cotton packed
arrogance thought the Arabs they had pressed to live
in cheap housing, was a happy lot.
The wedding was conducted on a barge that was going
down the Seine and up again and on the voyage we
could see the Eifel tower in all its garish colours.
To work on a wedding barge is well paid only white
French waiters, although the kitchen staff, was foreigners
I mean those who wash pots and spits in your soup.
It was a grand wedding and we were standing in line to be
served goose liver which is if you are not too particular
liver from an overstuffed bird . The French makes good food
or so they tell us, and they punch you if you disagree.
But I do feel sorry for the French cherished confidence
has taken a knock, “we are not universal loved”
we, the French who has colourized the world even the USA
president says so and he is an African. They have much to learn
the French, perhaps they should read victor Hugo again, odd
the old scribes, they saw their countryman clearly, mocked them
and loved them at the same time.
The breath of life condemns the dying
The creeds and credos conceal the living!
The man who sinned must be executed by death?
Sins from the lawmakers
Abide! And you will interfere in the duty of a man
They call themselves the tyrants!
The trial says, GUILTY ! - without a sin
He, is now a sinner, a betrayer, soon to die.
The revolution of man forgets the sin of Adam- the sin of all man
Our replica, as not the triune God
Punish him death and you will be punished by it
Death is not a mishap, it is fated
The apocalypse of a man opts by Him
10 by 10, His decrees, His chastises
But in man to man, now, one will be perished
The believers wicked by intelligence
Suppressed by power
Countryman, a blood to a blood
Orderly be banished
For guilty a man who perishes another man.
In These Days, We Prayed
.
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The Curse On My Linage
Oh linage
I now sit and wonder,
why thou have grown so slow in progress
And wasteful in resources.
Ah!
Then i realize our great forebears
Laid too numerous generational
Curses on us all, curses
That now beat the drums of
Our imminent downfall;
But centuries ago,
People from other tribes, settlements and regions
Couldn't compare our civilization to theirs.
None were as open minded and learned like us.
Brethren from our linage
Were so admired and envied.
Our glory days murdered by hunger...
While other clansmen took advantages
Of every given opportunity to help better
Their brothers and promote tribal unity.
Our rich uncles and aunties grew cold
Towards their own countryman mos
And watch them decline to the statuses
Of house keepers, mild slaves,scammers
For greed and self centeredness
Corrupts absolutely.
Hunger now creeps through the land;
Our land, 'This house is not for sale'
Beware of my first son, Osakue.
Tribalism
Our best excuse yet as a people,
When our growth is compared to others;
Who planted seeds of love,
And are mos reaping it
We promoted self interest
This Curse (HATE)
Our days of reckoning...
GHOPS...
ES
How many Friends Have You Now?
How many friends have you now?
How many write you everyday
Say they are sorry and their nation will pay?
How many have apologised?
How many have realised?
How their relatives have taken part?
Shot your countryman in the heart?
Raped your women and tortured your men?
How many are distressed?
How many digress and never mention
The killing brought by their country’s intervention?
Called you a bandelaro to your face
Said that they want to extinguish your race?
How many have visited with flowers?
Cried with you for hours?
How many begged your forgiveness?
Showed their true friendship, through their stress?
How many have knocked your door?
None, as I can see
None smatree (Russian for see)
None held your hand
Begged they didn’t understand
Many apologised and relished victory in their eyes
Saw an easy win,
gloated through the Crimea sin.
Friends have borders too
These are no friends of you.
David Cox 11/06/23
The infant orphan, you grew up in foster homes,
but your Polish roots were strong.
You knew Paderewski and you made his sculpture
for which you won the prize at World’s Fair.
Ziolkowski - the story teller in stone.
In your sculpture, you made the Crazy Horse face
larger than ancient kings,
larger than Egyptian pyramid.
May our another compatriot,
saint John Paul II pray for your soul
and all Native American Nations,
calling their sons and daughters to sainthood.
Rest in peace my countryman.
We were living in another people's territories,
making them proud.
May they grant us permanent asylum.
Aaron Kosminski, you were not Jack the Ripper
as many would have thought.
You have not kept a dissecting knife under your coat
as Raskolnikov had kept the ax.
You were not addicted to opium.
You liked the verse, The Hound of Heaven
and that’s Finis Coronat Opus -
the violence did not seized your hand,
there was no sound of dripping blood.
Your eyes, motionless with horror,
were not fixed on crime.
You were just like Jozef Konrad,
and myself, countryman emigrant,
only searching for peaceful life.
© A.R. Wielgus 2015
There I was paddling my vessel
Beneath the daughter of the stars
In the canoe capital of Virginia
Eyes void of that light that brings
The villagers about the fire at the
Crisp of winter pending
Sustained winds from the front
My caution about the unknown
Touched every tree along the bank,
Rock-root and ripple on route
When from the shallows of the
Perpetual flow rose the Siren
Her beauty mirrored by water's
Inescapable reflection
Her words she chose carefully
As she sung
Her light entered the eyes of the
Floating traveler for those to see
They became the fire that gives
Thine countryman warmth
With the winds now favorable
At their backs, the course
Was now set by the
Goddess of the Shenandoah
The river gently flew into the
Sturdy arms of the giving tree
Of which was in full fruit
The shade remained on the two
As love grew